I laughed as I looked at him, and rather enjoyed his anxiety.
“You're barking up the wrong tree,” I said. “There's nothing in it for you—not a thing.”
“Look here,” he said, “McCarthy wants money—don't he?—the same as the rest of us. Of course he does. Well, he can make thousands out of us for every penny that he gets out of the other side. Thousands, old boy! I'll double his fortune in a day—in a day, do you understand?” Again I laughed.
“He wouldn't listen to you,” I said. “McCarthy is honest.”
“Honest fiddlesticks!” he exclaimed. “So am I honest; so are you; but we're going to pick up money when it falls at our feet, aren't we—wads of it? Why, old boy, there's half a million dollars in this thing for you and me and McCarthy.”
He was almost on his knees at my feet, and I had just enough of the “old boy” in me to let him go on, and he persisted with singular blindness.
“Look here,” he continued, “I've got something up my sleeve. You're in love with the best girl in this glorious land of ours. I know all about it, and, old boy, I hold the key to that situation—do you understand? It's in my hand absolutely. She's promised to marry me. You do as I tell you, and I'll make the greatest sacrifice that one man can make for another. Now you can judge how important it is.”
“I'm surprised to hear you make a proposition like that,” I said, turning with disgust. “It's base, and unworthy of human lips.”
“Oh, you've got a grudge against me—that's what's the matter with you,” he added. “You can't forget that I won the girl in spite of you.”
“You didn't play fair,” I said. “You have deceived her and her father.”